How Sweet It Is
by piccolina789
Summary: Post-ep for 12x3, Bittersweet. A taste of Russell and Sara's dinner... with a sprinkle of Grissom.


**A/N: **What can I say, I love writing post-eps :) And this one was down on its knees begging to be written.

Just tiny hints of spoilers for season 12, episode 3, "Bittersweet".

* * *

><p>"So after all that fuss, you went with the simple choice of Italian, huh?"<p>

Sara cracked a smile over her plate of pasta.

"It's my favorite," she admitted, simultaneously admitting to herself that she was actually having an okay time. "And besides, it's hard for me to find much to eat at Indian or Greek places."

DB cocked his head as he slurped a long strand of spaghetti.

"I'm vegetarian."

Her supervisor's eyebrows lifted as he patted the corners of his mouth with the restaurant's burgundy napkin.

"I didn't know that about you," he mused. "Actually… I'm surprised we haven't done this sooner."

"Really?" she replied, a touch surprised. "Why's that?"

"We're the only two on Grave in _the club_," he said, winking.

Sara blinked.

"The club?"

"The marriage club," DB replied, dropping his fork and wiggling his ring finger. "Don't think I haven't noticed that ring."

"It's taken you four months to bring it up?"

"I was busy," he said, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile.

Sara gave a soft chuckle and smiled back.

"Point taken."

"So… who's the guy?" DB prodded.

Sara shifted unnervingly. She barely felt comfortable discussing her marriage with Nick or Greg or Catherine… old friends who had known her – and Gil, for that matter – for years. Admitting she sort-of kinda liked the new supervisor was a good step, but she wasn't quite up to dishing out marriage gossip quite yet.

"It's not the third degree," DB chuckled at her silence. "Here, I'll go first. Her name is Claire. We've been married for thirty-five years, and we have four children. She's a teacher. Our favorite thing to do together is go bowling."

He put out his hands, palms up.

"See?" he said innocently. "Piece of cake. You go."

Sara sighed. If bonding was what he wanted, she'd play along for now.

"His name is Gil," she began. "We've been married almost three years and we have a fantastically drooly boxer named Hank. He's an entomologist. And our favorite thing to do together is to go to a place neither of us have ever been before, and learn as much as we can about it as fast as possible."

"Now yours is a much more interesting story," DB smiled, waving his meatball-stabbed fork at her. "Entomologist? Wait. You're not married to…"

Sara bit her lip.

"Yeah," she cut in, knowing where he was going. "I kinda am."

"And it took you four months to mention _that_?"

"I guess we're even?" she winced.

"Well, that certainly adds a new dimension to things," he pondered. "But don't think that it'll make me go easier on you."

"Never."

She pushed the tubes of pasta around on her plate, feeling a little nervous now that the conversation had reached the real meaning of their little dinner date.

"We don't have to re-hash this all out, Sara," DB said, pushing away his nearly empty plate and looking straight at her. "You're a talented and capable CSI. I just need you to know that I was brought in here for a reason, and I intend to honor the commitments I made to this team."

She nodded diplomatically.

"I understand."

"I thought you would," DB reasoned, smiling at her again. "So… where's the most interesting place you've been?"

The Gina Sinclair case was not mentioned again, as Sara spent the rest of the meal telling story after story of her adventures in Costa Rica, Paris and Peru. DB was a captivated audience, even ignoring a call from his wife when she got to a particularly intriguing story involving a butler named Pierre, a blouse full of French croissants and the Louvre.

"Thanks for your hard work on the case tonight," DB said, handing her her coat. "I mean that. And next time the husband's in town, let me know. I'd love to meet what I'm being compared against."

"You want to meet him now?" she blurted, surprised at herself. "He… he's here."

"Are you sure it's not too late?" DB asked, checking his watch. "I don't want to intrude."

"Nah," Sara replied, wondering why in the world words were flooding out of her mouth faster than she could monitor them. "He spent so many years on Grave, he's as nocturnal as I am."

So twenty minutes later, Sara pulled into the double garage with DB parked behind her. The kitchen was dark, but smelled divine. Sara suddenly felt a pang of guilt in her chest. She'd forgotten to text him that she was having dinner out… and he'd obviously upgraded from yesterday's grilled cheeses.

"Sara?" came a voice from within the townhouse. "Is that you?"

"Hi," she called back. "I brought someone for you to meet."

Seconds later, he appeared, freshly showered and dressed in nice slacks and a button-down shirt, covered by an apron. He rushed to tug it off.

"Sorry, I was…" he tailed off, gesturing to the sizzling pans on the stove. "Hi, honey."

"Gil, this is DB Russell," Sara introduced awkwardly as Grissom wiped the cooking grease off his hands. "Russell… Gil Grissom."

The men nodded at each other, exchanging pleasantries.

"Nice to put a face with a name," Grissom said. "Sara's told me a lot about you."

"Well, it's nice to put a face with a… ring," DB countered, gesturing toward Sara's hand. "But I have to admit, I didn't know you existed until tonight."

"You never wondered about that curious smell coming from the back corner of your office?" Grissom teased.

"So that was _you_," DB replied cheerily. "Well, at least now I know who to bill the cleaning service to. Sara, let Nick know he's off the hook."

Grissom laughed.

"How's the team treating you?"

"Excellently. You did a good job with them," DB beamed before nodding at Sara. "As I'm sure you well know."

"Do you… want to sit down?" Grissom offered. "Have a bite to eat?"

"Oh, no," DB declined. "I best get back to my own spouse. I'm surprised she hasn't sent out a search and rescue for me already."

He extended his hand and Grissom took it.

"Nice to meet you," he nodded. "Sara… thanks for everything tonight. I appreciate it."

"See you tomorrow," Sara waved.

The moment the door closed behind DB, Grissom turned to his wife.

"So… we like him now?"

"I never said I disliked him," Sara countered.

"Yeah, but you weren't exactly shouting his praises either, dear."

Sara shrugged noncommittally.

"What's cooking?" she asked, nodding over his shoulder to the stove.

"Veggie fajitas," he answered, eyeing her suspiciously. "You've eaten already, haven't you?"

Sara grimaced.

"I'm sorry. It was… unexpected," she faltered. "Are you disappointed?"

"Why would I be?"

"You didn't kiss me hello."

"Well, I didn't plan to in front of our guest," Grissom teased, emphasizing the last word before swooping down upon his wife. "Hmmm… Italian?"

"You're disgusting," Sara said, swatting at his shoulder.

"I guess this just means you'll have to sit and watch me eat as you tell me about your day," he said, planting another kiss on her cheek before fixing a fajita. "But I hope you're not too full for a little… dessert. Later."

He winked at her from across the table. Sara felt a hot, deep flush spread to her extremities, and she half-wanted to push his dinner away from him right then and there and skip to dessert.

"Well?" he mumbled through a mouthful of onions and red peppers. "How does that sound?"

Sara grinned.

"Sweet."


End file.
